


Of Hobbits, Magic and Rings

by theayonder



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom, Lord of the Rings - Fandom, Silmarillion, The Hobbit
Genre: Adventure, Family, Friendship, Fun
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-23
Updated: 2017-08-23
Packaged: 2018-12-18 23:56:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11885568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theayonder/pseuds/theayonder
Summary: The child arrived in the Shire - so unlike the rest. One who could change more than world.Disclaimer to Stories: The author of any fanfics does not in any way; shape or form profit from the stories and that all creative rights to the characters belong to their original creator(s) and publisher(s). She's taking the time to play in their world.





	1. Beginnings

**\- OF HOBBITS, MAGIC AND RINGS -**

 

**OF MORGOTH’S END**

 

_“Who knows now the counsels of Morgoth? Who can measure the reach of his thought, who had been Melkor, might among the Ainur of the Great Song, and sat now, a dark lord upon a dark throne…_ ”

 

(The Silmarillion, _J.R.R. Tolkien_ , p.244)

 

We begin this tale with prophecy.

 

After Morgoth was imprisoned; Námo, the Lord of Mandos spoke in tones loud and clear for all to take heed of Ilúvatar’s warning.

 

“The ages would pass; death and life would continue their dance. When at last the world is old; the Powers weary, the Door of Night to the Timeless Void would be flung wide open as the Sun and the Moon died. Then the last great enemy would stride forth.”

 

“That cannot be!” despaired Manwë, the Lord of Aman.

 

“Brother there is hope.” Námo intoned. “One spirit would strive from the halls of Mandos, bearing a blackened sword. To stand beside the mighty Tulkas and Eönwë; this spirit cursed by the Power of Terror and of Hate. This spirit forged and re-forged through the fires of time. So would it be that at long last that the Mighty and the Accursed could fall upon that Black Sword wielded by a child of Húrin so that all Men would be avenged.”

 

Thus when the time came and Túrin’s spirit departed the world. A boon was granted to the sorrowful child of Húrin. The spirit was bid welcome into the Halls of Mandos.

 

In a sacred cavern did Námo and Vairë asked the warrior’s spirit: would he be willing to redeem himself through another life? Would he dare become the Swordsman destined to see the Dark Lord end? The spirit that was the belaboured child of Húrin agreed. Thus, his spirit with the blessing of Eru, the One, who in Arda is known as Illúvatar – was sent forward through all time and space to a couple of Man.

 

He cried loud and strong, born as the seventh month died.

 

**ii.**

**OF THE LOST SWORD**

 

“ _Túrin they laid in a high mound where he had fallen, and the shards of Gurthang were laid beside him._ ”

(The Silmarillion, _J.R.R. Tolkien_ , p. 271)

 

While it was so that the great sword re-forged from the sword _Anglachel_ ; the sword known as the Iron of Death was not there with its former master at the Stone of the Hapless.

 

It is true they laid the sword upon the mound. It is true that the Elves and Men present lamented at the warrior Túrin’s fall. What most did not know was that a little-known crew of pirates – whose names have been lost through the ages made the journey to the Stone of the Hapless some three hundred years later. Far against the waves and far from home; too close to the Grey Havens – they found the ancient sword.

 

They brought the object with them, not realizing that until Túrin returned – they would be cursed by the blade. Its shards would taste the blood of the thieves time and time again. Through ages and countless centuries – The Iron of Death would be lost.

 

Except for when it would be part of the greatest wand in history.

 

**iii.**

**OF THE FIRST HORCRUX**

 

Most magical historians agree that Herpo the Foul was the first to successfully create a _horcrux_ roughly in the time of 500 BCE. In truth, he was not the first. Nor was his creation of any real power. The magicals who sought this form of immortality were using the equivalent of a corrupted bootleg version.

 

Tom Riddle Junior was the only other known wizard shortly after the telling of these events to come close. However, by the time of his demise Riddle had become less immortal and more-so consumed by The Void.

 

The first real _horcrux_ was forged in secret through the fires of Mount Doom in that faraway age. Found in ancient texts in the depths of old Persia in a language not spoken or read in over two ages – those who could perceive the dead tongues could only understand its meaning.

 

Those who have clearance via the Department of Mysteries to even view these writings have only a basic understanding. What is understood is that the first _horcux_ was a plain band of gold. The name of the creator has been since lost overtime, dubbed The Forgotten. Those skilled understood that within the Ring the following warning had been inscribed:

 

_One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,_

_One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them_

 

(The Lord of the Rings, _J.R.R. Tolkien_ )

**iv.**

**OF HOBBITS AND SERVITUDE**

It is said that House Elves were once golems made of clay. This is not truth. Once long ago before man was corrupted by wars and the changing of the world: they were a small yet mighty people.

Indeed if it was not for the dark and inescapable magic that managed to seep its way through the latter part of the Fourth Age after all those great, wondrous heroes were at an end – the _hobylta_ would have continued on. Indeed they would have continued on as they had for thousands of years in the lands known as the Shire.

How it happened or why – overtime, those fair folk lost their fairness. They devolved and became the servants of those who could have saved them.

**v.**

**REMNANTS OF THE HOUSE OF ELESSAR**

Though once noble indeed, the great house of Aragorn, son of Arathorn: Elessar, the Elfstone, the Dúnadan Chieftan and heir of Elendil’s son of Gondor and King of the West soon fell to the times.

Within an age, darkness that is so true to man felled that once great home. His great-grandchildren fell to the machinations of their enemies to the East. Yet there remained, as ever there was a spark. For overtime – their great home was split into three. The House of Peverell, home to Antioch, Cadmus and Ignotus. These three were the remnants of the House of Elessar, descendants of the blood of Núménor.

Through them came the legendary Deathly Hallows. How they obtained ancient relics to create new crafts that would be unrivalled for many an age remains a mystery. Was it the Lord Death who brought them these items as stories say?

Yet what many did not know was the brothers were powerful. In their blood hummed a greatly untouched power. Through their magic, they wielded weapons unseen in any age.

The eldest brother, Antioch used the shards of a great and noble sword to create the most powerful wand. The middle, Cadmus crafted from a piece of an ancient relic – broken, once known as a _palantír_ – a powerful ring to commune with the dead. Whilst the last, Ignotus sought to use strands from a worn cloak worn by one of the _Golodhrim_ , a powerful mythical race to create a new cloak that would truly hide its wearer from prying eyes.

The wand was lost through time, the ring – fell into corruption while the cloak? That has fallen into the hands of one that it did not belong to while waiting for its rightful master.

**vi.**

**THE BLUE WIZARDS**

Of the Vala Oromë, two wizards dressed in blue were sent to calm the tides of the East. Both fell in some form or another. The one, once known as Alatar had begun cults of magic that permeate the magical community for ages upon ages. His brother, Pallando while valiant in his attempts was driven to hide and roam upon many dark paths.

However at the end the pair fought in the east, redeeming themselves only for stopping a machination of the enemy eastwards of destroying the Gates of Night. Such an action would cause the end to come.  

Their names whispered upon the wind as Morinehtar and Rómestámo to the only one left to hear it.

**vii.**

**Aiwendil’s Fate**

He had disappeared into the wood and fen. Rooting him-self in the deepest part of the darkest woods where he would watch. He would see many rise and fall. He would remain in the form of an old man covered by the droppings and seedlings of those he cared for. His heart would grow weary by how man never seemed to learn.

Over time, he would plead with his makers to change his shape, transform, become smaller, wizened. Until chance would come that one could mistake him for a seedling. They would plant him as gatekeeper in 1971. He would grow again, take shape again. He would transform into something new, something ancient and something completely wild. He would take on a new name. His purpose was not yet done.

**viii.**

**The Mumurings of Curumo**

He had once been a great and powerful being until his light grew dim. Then his heart grew dark and he was killed by one of his own servants. He became naught more than a spirit. He wandered the lands for age upon age; whispering foul deeds and thoughts into men. Chance came, for ancient and powerful magic to take shape. A young woman named Merope had set her eyes on a young man named Thomas. This would be where he would circumvent the rules that would be placed upon him.

 

**xi.**

**Of Fangorn Forest**

It had once moved yet now it resides on the hillsides and byways near an ancient ruin. The centaurs know of the forest’s keepers. It is part of the reason why they guard their home with ferocity unseen. For after ages changed the shape of the lands and new tales overtook to replace an era of birthing. The Forest remembers still. Even if Fangorn napped for too long and soon became more tree than herder.


	2. The Arrival

**CHAPTER 1**

**THE ARRIVAL**

 

The child arrived on a misty, grey morning on the way to Bag End.

 

There he lay beneath the old oak tree, a stone’s throw away from the grand _smial_. Frodo Baggins (master of the hobbit hole) thought the child’s hair colour akin to midnight crushed velvet. Whereas his comrade, Samwise Gamgee thought the child’s mop was more like the shaggy bits from the branches strewn messily about. Both would soon realize that regardless of their description, the child’s ebony mane hid the strange thin scar that marred his forehead.

 

"Tis not right, Mr. Frodo, for a child to look like this." Sam muttered. He stared at the lad’s clothing which reminded him of old, peeling bark. The portly, golden haired hobbit hefted the child into his arms at Master Frodo’s request. For someone that could potentially tower of him; the youngster weighed little less than a sack of potatoes. "He is a big folk's child, a young one too."

 

Frodo’s periwinkle eyes flashed at the thought. His lips curled into a frown. The duo previously was walking from the gardener’s home down the way. Frodo had been wandering again from the time the son rose to present. When he had left home earlier that morning to wander about town – the brunet hobbit hadn’t seen any child near the Party Tree.

 

The two hobbits quickly yet carefully made their way up to Bag End. Their precious cargo still unconscious even as the brunet raced to the gate of his home. In through the circular entrance they went. Frodo motioned for Sam to place the child into the biggest bed of the _smial_. Quietly, the pair took time to clean and dress the still unconscious child. It was a miracle the boy hadn't woken up.

 

“Tis not right.” Sam murmured looking on at the boy when they were finished. The pair couldn’t do anything further after their task was completed.

 

Frodo gently tapped Sam’s shoulder. “It is about time we start with elevenises, we have done what we could thus far.”

 

The blonde hobbit nodded and followed after him. They were oddly quiet as they prepared for elevensies in Bag End’s kitchen in the usual way. Scones were rolled and dusted before being baked into the old-fashioned stove oven. Bacon was fried and mushrooms sautéed. There was even a hint of cinnamon smell in the air as Sam made his infamous apple pancakes drizzled with butter and honey. Every now and then Frodo would pause in his own work to check on his unexpected guest.  

 

"What is he doing in the Shire of all places?" Frodo mused when he returned to prepare the place settings. “He does not look like any sort of Bree-folk I have seen. It takes days to make that journey! Any hobbit worth his salt would have found him before he reached us here. Most would ensure he was taken care of before sending him forth to join a passing caravan from the Blue Mountains back into Bree."

 

"I do not like the look of this Mr. Frodo if you ask me," Samwise said finally. He was quite jittery about the Big Folk. Still, he did not see justice in hurting children regardless of what race they were from. "It is not every day you get strangers in these parts apart from Gandalf. Even he is a wizard and he's the queerest person we all know by far."

 

Between the pair – Bag End’s table groaned as it was laden with their bounty. There were swaths of bacon, piping hot scones fresh from the oven, apple pancakes, butter, honey, pears and apples from the orchard.  

 

“Your tea Master Frodo,” Sam stated pouring the liquid into the brunet’s mug. “This is indeed a fine meal.”

 

“Thank you Sam.”

 

They were sitting down finally after their morning labours. Their pre-planned elevensies had come closer to the noon lunch hour. Sam had insisted on adding sausages, fish, an additional bowl of garden salad and fluffy scrambled eggs to their palate. By the time they finally sat down, they felt the funny hunger known only to hobbits. Both started when they heard a door creak. This noise disrupted Sam taking a scone in each hand and Frodo forking over a couple strips of bacon.

 

Their guest had woken.

 

Frodo rose when he heard a quiet shuffling and stumbling noise. Instinctively the brunet male went to where he saw the child leave the confines of the room he stayed in. The boy shouldn’t be up!

  
Rounding the corner periwinkle clashed with verdant eyes. Emotions flitted through that gaze, chiefly confusion. The boy’s elfin features lent him an air of youth and innocence. However, as Frodo gazed back he saw a heavy weight yoked upon those young shoulders. There was a story there, no doubt, as surely as his cousin Bilbo facing up against a dragon. No child could come through a misty morning like this one. No child was made of air!

 

"Hello," Frodo finally greeted. "Did you sleep well?"

 

The youngster took a step back as if startled by the words. Panic flashed through the child's expressive face of his as he blinked owlishly back at him. Frodo tried again and took a step back showing the youngster he had meant no harm. He felt Sam’s presence at his left shoulder as the gardener had followed after him.

 

Frodo said kindly. "I am Master Frodo Baggins of Bag End. This is my friend Samwise Gamgee. We found you on the way to my home.”

 

Through those strange, owlish spectacles the mannish child stared at them. Frodo felt those verdant eyes scrutinizing the tops of their head to their rounded furry toes.

 

“Are you hungry?” Frodo continued. He exchanged a glance with Sam when the child shyly took a step back as if realizing something monumental. The gardener had given their young guest an equally assessing regard. The latter of the two hobbits gave an infinitesimal shrug in response to the quiet question. Indeed, the child was strange and the gardener felt his friend yet employer had a handle on this situation.

 

“Please, would be alright to walk with us to the dining room?” Frodo asked. “I am certain you must be hungry from your (here he paused looking for the right word to state) – journey.”

 

Looking around him, the human child took a tentative step towards Frodo. There was a slow wariness the current Master of Bag End had only ever seen in an aging, eccentric uncle whose mind was made up to write about his adventures.

 

The three of them made a curious procession to where the table was still groaning from the weight of the meal it held. Sam slipped behind the child shortly after to measure how well the boy could walk. There was a bit of a limp on the lad’s left side and he favoured his left arm gingerly as he was urged to sit down. Both hobbits did not miss the way those green eyes lit up in wonder at the meal before him.

 

Sam took his place still watching the child even as he loaded an empty wooden plate with a scone, a swath of bacon, apple slices.  

 

"Please, help yourself." Frodo stated gesturing to the plate when the blonde hobbit placed it before the boy. Quietly, the two hobbits resumed nimbly scooping up what they wished on their own platters. The duo quickly dissolved nattering about their tasks for today. Sam would be pruning some hedges and checking the gates. His employer would be in the study – studying. The unspoken agreement was sincerely to keep an eye on their mysterious visitor.

 

"He's awfully quiet," Sam observed finally. The words were spoken around a mouthful of honeyed scone before he downed a sip of cooling lavender tea.

 

"Aye, that he is," Frodo nodded as he chewed on a piece of bacon.

 

"Looking at him, I think you are right. He doesn't have the look of Bree." Sam mused as he lathered buckle berry jam on to another crumpet this time.

 

"And you would know this – how?" Frodo asked his friend.

 

"Gaffer says that Bree folk are hard worked folks with browned skins because their work takes them outside much of the time. This child although he's got roughed up hands and feet, the rest of him is far too pale." Sam replied.

 

Frodo frowned and took note of Sam's words. He looked over the child's hands which were far too calloused certainly for one this young. Their guest seemed to retreat inwardly a little when he noticed the hobbits look his way.

 

However, the young were often asked to work when they could. The only fair hobbits he had seen (as in one who had not seen daylight in a while and not because of any inherent beauty) were related to the leech that was Lobeila Sackville-Baggins. This son of the Big Folk was pale for another reason. Taking further notice of his young charge – Frodo quickly realized that their guest was listening to their talk.

 

"We are just discussing where you could be from," Frodo said finally. “We meant no offense to talk such in your presence. We are curious and you are indeed quieter than we are used to.”

 

He attempted to make his words sound peaceable.  The quiet confusion in those eyes caused Frodo to wonder why. He was speaking in the Common Tongue as he often did. There were not many languages apart from Elvish or Dwarvish that a hobbit could learn. The former needed a willing teacher and the latter language was better off asking a goblin if it was having a difficult day.

 

The hobbit even gave a small, welcoming smile and a nod to the gardener opposite him. "This here hobbit is my friend and gardener, Samwise Gamgee – you can call him Sam for short."

 

The boy looked to the gardener grunted in acknowledgement only because he couldn’t speak through the bacon he was chewing upon. Neither hobbit missed the passing amusement in the human child's eyes. The undeclared question for the boy's name lingered in the air soon after.

 

As if sensing what they may ask next, the boy cleared his throat. "Frodo," gesturing to the dark haired hobbit then, "Sam," here he nodded to the blonde. The child placed a weak hand to his chest and said; "Harry. Harry Potter."

 

Except it sounded more like his name was _Ha-rye Pot-ah_. It didn’t take for either hobbit to come to a startling conclusion. With those words it became clear to everyone at the table the reason for the child's initial confusion when Frodo had spoken to him.

 

"By Old Toby!” Sam gasped. “He – he speaks none of our talk I reckon. I have not yet heard such a phrasin’. I would bet on Farmer Maggot’s crops that he doesn’t speak like the big folk either!" Sam gaped.

 

The exclamation made the boy – _Ha-rye_ , Frodo amended mentally – jump.

 

"Sam, calm – see here? He shakes as if in a fright. _Ha-rye_ , welcome to the Shire." The dark haired hobbit smiled instead in order to calm the child who was examining the gardener with his cautious gaze.

 

The child nodded with his first, very hesitant yet brightening smile. "Er...allo."

 

\- o O o -

 

Of course, within those first few months Frodo and Sam did their best to look for Harry’s home. The boy did not recognize any of the names on the various maps in Bag End and when they went to Bree together for the first time – it had been with some trouble.

 

Someone had actually wanted to steal the boy from them! The sorry affair ended when Harry somehow managed to land on the roof of the Inn of the Prancing Pony to the terror of those who witnessed it. A couple of the tall folk known as rangers were the only ones to manage getting the terrified youngster down.

 

“Master Underhill,” (for Frodo did not use his true last name – something from Bilbo’s stories about giving names and passing on power to others who could abuse the truth stuck to the Baggins’ heir) the ranger so-called Broad-heart began. “Should your charge require training find us when you can – the Grey Company would be more than pleased to assist in his training – stealth in one so young is a blessing indeed.”

 

“Aye,” Frodo had replied. “Many thanks Sir Broad-heart, should you or the Grey Company people need rest seek for me by way of my good-cousins the Tooks. Gentlemen, goodwomen, we bid you well.”

 

“That’s more than enough excitement for one day.” Sam muttered.

 

Broad-heart allowed a rare grin mar his face while the other ranger, a tall and brooding fellow known to all as Strider nodded their way. The latter man watching them keen-eyed as the hobbits took their shaking charge into the inn. Those clear, bright eyes lingered as he watched the odd troupe go up-stairs to the room they rented for the night. Both Hobbits equally comforting and showing relieved concern to the young charge.

 

“We shall accompany them on their road home; that those with stickier noses and fingers are warned away.” Strider quietly stated. Broad-heart nodded and the pair seemingly glared at any who came near the trio. Hobbits and boy followed by two rangers quietly in the shadows returned to Bag End weary-hearted.

 

None had come to claim the child. Frodo thought nothing of it to teach the lad manners, words and all matter of raising a child he thought would be beneficial. He did his best to ease the lad and teach him the stories of the world. The boy seemed to take to these lessons easily enough.

 

Pleasantly, the youngster learned how to express him-self through words soon enough. He began with more stunted phrase of course yet Frodo was pleased with his unexpected charge’s progress. When the child wrote his name for the first time in Common Tongue; it had been marked with a brunch so extravagant, they had to get Sam, a couple of the Gamgee cousins, Meriadoc Brandybuck, Peregrin Took and even Fatty Bolger to share in the meal.

 

Harry remained with Frodo despite the gossip of the land.

 

“He should have gone back to the Big Folk!” Lobeila Sackville-Baggins had cried to anyone who listened to her. “He does not belong amongst good-folk in the Shire! Imagine the preposterousness of a hobbit raising a child of men!”

 

Much to the disapproval of the rest of the Shire folk – young _Har-rye_ stayed.

 

The Shirrifs of the town with their caps and feathers offered to send word to those folk that patrolled their borders. No Baggins, Gamgee nor the youth himself accepted the offer. Not for a while, even if they had open invitation by their brief acquaintances from Bree. Of course none of the feathered caps disagreed with any pie sent their way was given as way of thankfulness for their due diligence.

 

The whisperers and gossips of the town deemed Frodo Baggins as odd as his uncle. No good hobbit would take in a strange human child under their wings – even one as useful and smart as young Harry. The rumours grew. The child had to have been a souvenir from Mad Bilbo’s adventures! Another stated that Frodo was impotent and could not produce an heir since he refused to take a wife. Shortly thereafter, Lobeila Sackville-Baggins found the bottom of her skirts worn full of moth holes. How they got there no one knew; only mischievous leafy eyes shone with secret merriment whenever it was mentioned.

 

However, life continued onwards.

 

Harry soon found himself befriending not only his first friends Frodo and Sam but also Frodo’s cousins. There was Meriadoc (Merry) Brandybuck and the tween Peregrin (Pippin) Took. There was also Fatty (Fredregar) Bolger and Folco Boffin.  Between the six hobbits they were able to assist creating a large extension above ground that was decent human size.

 

It was placed between the orchards and the back door of the Bag End _smial_. It would do as a bedroom Harry could call his own. They knew that men were much larger than hobbits and not knowing how tall the child would or could be – Sam thought it prudent to be prepared.

 

Harry quickly learned the Shire's ways and despite the coaxing of Merry or Pippin or oftentimes both to do some sort of mischief – the child stayed close to Frodo and Sam. It was a strange mystery but soon commonplace for all the hobbits in the Shire to know that Master Frodo Baggins – much like his cousin before him – had adopted a charge. Irregular since the child was that of the Big Folks.

 

"Those Baggins'," other hobbits said said. "The only good ones are the Sackvilles and even then – that's not saying much about them."

 

It didn't bother anyone who knew the goings on of Bag End though.

 

In fact things went on as much as it did back in the day of the Hole's old master Bilbo Baggins. There was gardening to do, learning to be had (for Harry at least who soaked it up to learn the Common Tongue quite quickly to the benefit of all) and a good life to lead.

 

Things changed on the 8th day of Wedmath (July 31) when Harry turned eleven years old in the year 3011.


End file.
